


Balance

by itsmoonpeaches



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Air Nomad Genocide (Avatar), Air Nomads (Avatar), Alternate Universe, Chief Katara and Master Aang AU, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt Some Comfort, Kataang Valentine's Bash 2021, Kataang Week, Love, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, POV Aang (Avatar), POV Katara (Avatar), Southern Water Tribe, Unwanted Sexual Advances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29404983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmoonpeaches/pseuds/itsmoonpeaches
Summary: Made for Kataang Valentine's Bash 2021: Complementary, with the prompt pair: Clouds and Storm.-“Well, hello there, Princess Katara,” said a voice from behind her. She turned around with some sort of giddy shock only to meet his brilliant silver eyes. The icy blue walls of the chief’s palace—though ‘palace’ was a strong word for it when the Northern Water Tribe boasted a much larger residence—reflected on his face, making him look as if he were an ethereal spirit.Aang was ginning at her, just as bright in his orange and yellow acolyte robes as ever. He was proud to be an Air Nomad from the Southern Air Temple, their closest neighbors besides Kyoshi Island. He came to her as always, a jovial cloud gliding in the sky over the sea.-Or, Katara is the heir to the Southern Water Tribe. Aang is a master airbender. They are two parts of the same whole.
Relationships: Aang & Gyatso (Avatar), Aang & Katara (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 73
Collections: Kataang Valentine's Bash 2021





	1. Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Made for Kataang Valentine's Bash 2021!
> 
> The prompt pair is clouds and storm. To be explained as you read on :)
> 
> TW: unwanted advances. (However, it is not graphic and nor does it go far.)

When Katara was twelve years old, Avatar Roku died a hero’s death saving his village from an erupting volcano. She remembered the somber experience, coming together because of the passing of the old Avatar. Ceremonies had been held throughout the world for two weeks, and the Fire Nation especially had the grandest one from what she had heard. It made sense considering that this cycle’s Avatar had been from the Fire Nation and a dear friend of Fire Lord Sozin himself.

The Southern Water Tribe had their own remembrance ceremony. The candles had been lit; the empty canoe had been released onto the ocean as they watched from far away on the floes. The soft beating of the drums as they resounded on the vast tundra and through the capital city was something Katara would not soon forget.

She had felt a little ashamed because she knew that she should not have been so excited to see her best friend on an occasion like that one. Aang had visited because his mentor and guardian, Monk Gyatso, needed a change in scenery. At least, that was what her mother, Chief Kya, had told her and her older brother Sokka. Her father, Hakoda, was good friends with the man, and in turn he and his charge were friends with their whole family.

She did not know who convinced whom when Gyatso and Aang arrived on their shores. Nana, Gyatso’s flying bison, carried them on her back, and Appa who was Aang’s, followed them at their side. Appa was such a little creature in comparison to Nana, and Katara had always thought him adorable.

She had bounced up from her chores, ready to greet them. She had tried to school her face to be a little more serious, but she could not help but crack a smile when she had spotted Aang. She was not reprimanded though. How could she be, when Gyatso smiled at the same time they did? He was such a kindly elder with laugh lines around his gray eyes and his droopy face with his white mustache that reached just past his chin. He had blue arrow tattoos that Aang did not yet have at the age of ten, but they both shared the same clothing color palate that matched the season of autumn, and of course, the lack of hair.

As the days went on during their visit that time, she noticed that Hakoda had done all he could to distract Gyatso. Avatar Roku had been a close friend to Gyatso after all. They had grown up together and learned airbending together. It had got her thinking that maybe she could comfort Aang too. She knew that Aang had known Roku as an uncle figure that appeared in his life, even if it was not often.

The thing she remembered about the entire ordeal was not the times they wandered the capital in a daze, not the moments when they went to the stables out back to feed Appa and Nana, but what Aang had said to her when she asked if he was sad about it all. About losing Roku.

“I’m a little sad but…Gyatso is sadder,” he had told her with that shy smile of his.

After, he had taken out his wooden pan flute and played a cheerful tune. He wanted to lift everyone’s spirits, he told her. The way the wind blew through the instrument made her feel like she was flying.

That was the day that Katara realized that Aang was selfless. He was like the clouds on a sunny day, the kind that gave just the right amount of soft shade. He was familiar, comforting, the opposite to her stormy, passionate personality. But still, she began to love him. Little by little, as much as a child could understand what that meant.

She did not remember when they had met, only that he was always there. Perhaps she had seen him one day as a toddler, trudging through the snowfall. Maybe they had found each other on the docks when Gyatso landed his bison. All she knew was that for as long as she could remember, Aang had been a part of their family, and he had played with her and her brother throughout their childhoods.

Now, two years after that day, she was looking forward to seeing him again. She had last seen him weeks ago when he and some of his peers had gone down to the Southern Water Tribe to trade for woven baskets. She had quite enjoyed the lychees that they had brought with them. They were so sweet and tangy, even if the seed in the middle could be frustrating to eat around.

This time, he was coming because two years after the passing of the previous Avatar also meant that it was time to search for the new one. The next in the cycle was supposed to be an airbender from one of the temples, but rumor had it that the Avatar had already been found. Leaders from the Air Nomads’ Council of Elders from the four temples were to go to the other nations to inform them officially that the Avatar had been discovered. But as tradition, their name and location were not revealed until the new Avatar’s sixteenth birthday.

Because the Southern Air Temple was so close to the Southern Water Tribe, Gyatso and some other representatives were chosen to be the message bearers to the chief. Naturally, Aang was permitted to tag along. He could travel alone now because he was twelve and at the age where this rite was bestowed upon the airbenders, but still too young to remain separate from his guardian for long. However, Katara supposed it would not have mattered either way. Wherever Gyatso went, Aang did too. She was simply happy that he had chosen to return to her.

“Well, hello there, Princess Katara,” said a voice from behind her. She turned around with some sort of giddy shock only to meet his brilliant silver eyes. The icy blue walls of the chief’s palace—though ‘palace’ was a strong word for it when the Northern Water Tribe boasted a much larger residence—reflected on his face, making him look as if he were an ethereal spirit.

Aang was ginning at her, just as bright in his orange and yellow acolyte robes as ever. He was proud to be an Air Nomad from the Southern Air Temple, their closest neighbors besides Kyoshi Island. He came to her as always, a jovial cloud gliding in the sky over the sea. 

He was still bald, like all the monks, but unlike the other children his age, he already had his airbending master tattoos. They were cerulean arrows that trailed his limbs and chi paths, ending on his forehead. She had wished to go to his mastery ceremony, but it was an intimate experience that was only held at the temples. This was the first time she had seen him with them, and just looking at the way he stood there made him look so foreign. It made her blush.

 _“P-Princess?!”_ she sputtered out, ignoring the heat that settled in her cheeks. She pointed an indignant finger at his face. “What? Should I call you _Master_ Aang now?”

Instead of being as annoyed as she wanted him to be, Aang laughed. “No,” he replied as he continued to chuckle in between breaths, “but it would be pretty funny!”

She passed the oval window that framed the city outside and crashed into him. Her arms encircled his neck. He was a few inches shorter than her, but he fit against her just fine.

“Twelve years old and already a master? Monk Gyatso must be so proud of you!” she exclaimed. She pulled back; her arms still draped on his shoulders. “I can’t believe it. You look like a whole different person.”

Aang’s cheeks turned a light pink as he separated from her. He rubbed that back of his head. “I hope that’s a good thing?” he asked with a sheepish smile.

“Of course, it is!” she laughed. “I hope I can be a master waterbender soon. I need to catch up to you.”

“From what Sokka just told me at the pier, he thinks that you will,” he replied. His eyes sparkled when he looked at her. “I think that you will too.”

Katara laughed softly, stepping closer to him so that they could walk side-by-side. They were both still smiling as they traveled down the hallway.

The ice of the chief’s home and palace was white like fresh snow, and only seemed to glow with the light of the rising sun behind the walls. Intricate carvings and totems lined the passages, but they were not over imposing. Each of them was dedicated to different nature spirits: the ocean, the moon, the hunt, spirits that traversed in the mountains, and even the ones that shape-changed. Aang had always appreciated them. She liked that he did.

The door to the meeting chamber appeared before them. It was in a round room. A hearth sat in the center and furs from arctic animals were carefully placed on the ground along with cushions. Behind the fireside sat her mother. She was tall for a woman of her tribe, but that only enhanced her elegant features. Katara had her mother’s clear blue eyes, and Sokka had her regal facial structure. Her hair matched Katara’s chestnut, but in a darker shade, and it was braided back and away from her face. She had the attire of a leader. A yellow full moon was sewn to the front of her parka.

Sokka had come, and of course Hakoda did as well. They had matching Warriors’ Wolf Tails tied into their hair, but their father’s was more grown out and met his beard. Both of them were sitting to Kya’s left. A seat was kept empty to Kya’s right. Katara situated herself there, trying to make herself comfortable.

Monk Gyatso and a small delegation of two other Air Nomads sat together along the edge of the hearth. One of them had a particularly bushy unibrow, and the other seemed to be missing his two front teeth. Aang joined them.

It was his first meeting. Since he earned his tattoos, the Elders had eyed him as a potential Council member to fill their future ranks. He had grumbled enough about it to her through his letters.

Katara tried to ready herself to be formal, but as she and Aang were across from each other, it was difficult to do so. She, Sokka, and Aang were not old enough to participate in political affairs, but when they each turned twelve, it was acceptable to let them attend. After all, Sokka and Katara were the son and daughter of the chief. Both of them would grow into positions of leadership.

Anyone could become chief in the Southern Water Tribe, but the title often remained within a certain circle of families. Outside of the circle, she and her brother were pronounced the heirs. It came down to respect, not age, nor gender. Kya was a distinguished head of their tribe, and a powerful waterbender. Thus, when she had children of her own, she and Sokka were closely scrutinized.

She and her brother were both leaders in their own way, and this trait had only flourished over time. But it turned out that Sokka wanted to be more like their father: a warrior and a hunter. Katara, on the other hand, inherited Kya’s waterbending. She wanted to defend her tribe, but she also wanted to heal. She wanted to be like Kya.

Seeing this, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the members of her family. There was a saying that her father repeated often, a saying that he had passed on to she and Sokka, and perhaps had inspired both of them.

“The men of our tribe are leaders of the hunt, and the women are leaders of the people,” he said whenever he admired Kya as she conducted her duties.

Katara wanted to listen, to learn. She wanted to be a compassionate chief like her mother.

Kya raised her head, nodding to the delegates. “Well, shall we begin, Monk Pasang?” she asked.

The monk with the unibrow agreed, bent somewhat forward on his cushion. He appeared unfazed by the animal skins that were lain around him. Katara was always impressed by the amount of acceptance an Air Nomad had when confronted by a different culture, especially one that willingly hunted prey as part of their livelihood. An Air Nomad never ate meat, and never dared harm a living thing. Even the use of airbending was not meant for attack, but to defend only when circumstances were dire. She admired their acts of peace.

“Yes, of course,” Pasang said. He cleared his throat. “I, Monk Pasang of the Southern Air Temple bring with me some of my Council…Monks Tashi and Gyatso.”

“We welcome you to the Southern Water Tribe capital,” replied Kya with a bow of her head.

There was a pause, a shift in the room. Tashi was the one to speak next. His voice was like stepping on gravel, grinding and squeaky. “As you have heard, the Avatar has been found.”

The silence that came after was thick. There was no shock in it, but trepidation. As if there had to be more than that.

Gyatso glanced upward from his spot next to Aang, a resolute expression on his wrinkled face. “We would like to request that when the time comes, the Southern Water Tribe will agree to train them,” he spoke. His gaze lingered on Katara for a second, and then passed over her to meet Kya’s. “We have seen that the waterbenders of your tribe have been well taught, and we believe that the Avatar would do well to learn from your people.”

Katara saw the shocked expressions that both her father and brother had. Kya had kept herself composed, but she could see the subtle change in the way she arched her back. Maybe it was something like surprise, or even pride. She certainly felt the same.

“It would be an honor to have one of our own be the Avatar’s master,” she replied.

Katara spent the rest of the meeting concentrating on the way her mother spoke with confidence, how they talked about various accords and trade. They exchanged additional pleasantries, and even joked. When Tashi nodded off and almost fell backward, she had to stifle a laugh when Aang mimicked him.

From then on, all she could think about was going outside to waltz in the snowflakes that had started to drift down from the sky just beyond the single window. She wanted to show Aang how quickly she could make an ice sled, how much more fun it would be to use his airbending to make them go faster.

It must have been another hour before they were let out. Sokka mumbled something about wanting a big lunch, but Katara found herself being dragged into the courtyard with Aang holding her hand. He was grinning, and she was laughing for no other reason than that they could finally spend some time together.

“Do you want to go penguin sledding with me?” he asked, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

She giggled into her mittens. “Let’s go!” she exclaimed.

The two of them spent all afternoon on the slopes, chasing penguin otters with fish used as bait to lure them in. They slid down the same hills they did when they were younger, chortling loudly with every twist and turn.

When they were tired of running after the creatures, she started a snowball fight. She knew she would win, of course. She was the waterbender. But it was fun to let him believe he could, just for a moment.

“Race you to the palace!” yelled Aang over his shoulder when the sun started to dip below the mountains.

“Not fair!” she shouted back. “Airbenders always win!”

“Waterbenders should stop complaining about it!”

She admitted that she might have cheated by making the ice sled that she had wanted to show him anyway. Still, she did not beat him, but the way he brightened when she caught up was a sunbeam refracting on the snow. She would never forget how he looked then.

-

Katara was sixteen and Aang was fourteen when it happened.

Sixteen was the traditional marriageable age of the Water Tribes, but it was not as strictly enforced in the Southern Tribe as it was in the Northern Tribe. For most, the idea of marriage at such a young age was seen as archaic. Even a promise of marriage early on was less common than it was in their sister tribe. Though, it was not unheard of.

Oftentimes, it would happen with more prominent families who tended to adhere to tradition. Even more so with the family of the chief. With that kind of prior knowledge, she should have seen it coming.

“What do you mean I’m getting marriage proposals, Gran Gran?” she moaned one evening as she and her family were finishing a pot of stewed sea prunes. She scoffed. “I haven’t heard from anyone.”

Her grandmother was very much like her in that she was stubborn and independent. She was Hakoda’s mother, but she much resembled Kya when it came to getting her point across. Though some said that Katara was the spitting image of her.

“Exactly what I said, Katara,” informed her grandmother. “You’re getting proposals, and a lot of them. Some even from the Northern Water Tribe.”

“There’s no way I’m marrying someone from the Northern Tribe! They just want a good wife who never speaks and doesn’t use her waterbending for anything other than healing, and they probably just want to marry me because I’m an heir,” she retorted with a frown. She placed her near-empty bowl down. She pointed to her brother. “Sokka’s not married yet, and he’s seventeen! How come it matters only if I get married?”

“Hey!” shouted Sokka, indignant. He had a spoonful of sea prunes bulging from his cheek. He swallowed the whole thing, coughing in the process. Then, he aimed his spoon in her direction. “You became a master waterbender at fourteen, and I happen to be really good looking. I’m sure we _both_ could find our matches if we wanted.”

“So, you’re saying that you don’t have any promising traits other than your looks?” Katara teased.

Sokka growled. “I’m _saying_ that we’re both good prospects, and that I _chose_ to not marry until later.” He sat up, preening. “I want to have a go ‘round, you know?”

Katara gagged, and Hakoda guffawed. Kya did not look much too pleased.

“Well, I’m not marrying anyone that I don’t even know,” said Katara. “I’m not marrying until I want to either.”

That was supposed to be it. She expected a hard time from her grandmother, and at first, she did receive a lot of grievances about not following tradition for a few weeks after her birthday.

Her mother was good about letting her come to her own conclusions, but even Kya had to accept that there were certain traditions they had to pretend to adhere to. She received scroll after scroll, men from all over the tribe asked for Katara’s hand. Some of them were bold enough to ask for her directly. Sokka gave her so much grief about it, that Katara wanted to pull her braid out every time he waggled his eyebrows at an approaching bachelor.

But none of them impressed her.

For some reason, she kept comparing them all to Aang. She started to think about him more and more. She had noticed how he had grown taller than her, how his voice deepened, how much more defined his features became. She saw him gradually as he changed. He was not the little boy he once was, but someone else. Someone she could be with.

Even so, nothing stopped them from approaching. Out of all of suitors that came for her, Tulok was the most persistent. Somehow, he knew her schedule. He followed her to the healing huts. He observed as she taught classes for beginner waterbenders. His presence was unpleasant, often a thorn in her side.

Tulok was from a prominent family of warriors, and he was the only waterbender in his household. He was talented and excelled at combat waterbending, but he was not yet a master. He was larger than her brother, and more muscular. His hair always remained up, and he had narrow eyes that made him look like he was always scheming.

“You should nudge your foot a little to the left, Katara,” he told her as she was practicing the water whip at the communal fountain. “That way, your stance will be steadier.” He never called her ‘Master’.

She had executed the move perfectly without his help, and she told him so.

“Ah, I’m just trying to give you some pointers,” he went on. “I’m going to be your husband, right?”

“No,” Katara said, using the same tendril of water to shove him away. “No one is going to be my husband.”

Katara turned away, storming off into the sunset. Yet, she did not see Tulok shift after she had forced him away. Something cold and hard wrapped around her waist. Frozen and locked there like a shackle. She spun toward Tulok, gasping in disbelief as he trapped her wrists and hands in ice as well.

They were soon forced together, chest to chest. She was too shocked to move, too utterly disgusted to realize that she needed to try to bend her way out of his grip. Her hands were clasped to her, cold in the ice that entrapped them. He tilted forward, crashing his chapped lips to hers and grazing her teeth with the tip of his tongue. She tried to squirm away, tried to move, move, _move._ She was better than this, she told herself. She had to be.

He bit her bottom lip and she screamed into his caress. There was a familiar tug in her gut as she pushed her energy outward. The ice around her hands started to melt. The belt around her waist crackled with each step backward she made. She slammed into the wall of a building.

She wondered why no one could see her.

The ice broke. She pushed him away. And then, without any prompting, Tulok was blown off his feet and slammed into the ground on the opposite end of the courtyard. He groaned.

Everything must have happened in seconds, but it felt like an eternity. She was on her knees. Her hands were shaking, and every part of her felt violated. She curled into herself, heaving an exhale. A shadow appeared before her and a pair of scuffed brown boots.

The shadow crouched before her, and a voice came, familiar and comforting, and like the shade of clouds on a too-hot day. “Are you okay?” Aang asked. He did not place a hand on her. “Do you…want me to help you?”

When she did not respond, he added, “I can leave…if you want.”

Aang started to stand. Without thinking, her hand shot out to grip onto the fabric of his trousers. He returned to his previous position.

“Stay,” she whispered. She finally looked him in the eye. Her vision was blurry. She could not see him well enough. She swiped at her cheeks and a warm liquid coated her palms. She had not realized she was crying. “Please, Aang,” she begged. “Take me home.”

Only then when she had reached out to him did he take her hand.

They did not speak for a long while, not even when they reached the doorstep of the palace and he had led her to her bedroom. She was grateful that her brother was out hunting, and that everyone else was busy for the day. They were not supposed to meet again until supper.

“Thanks,” she said after a beat of silence. “I’m glad you came.”

She heard him sigh, then he fidgeted with something. He lifted an object and presented it to her. “I…wanted to stop by. It’s been almost two months since your birthday, but I was so busy training the younger kids that I…well…” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to give this to you in person. Sixteen is important.”

She lifted her eyes and with careful fingers, grasped onto the gift he gave her. “A pan flute,” she observed.

“I know that you like to hear me play so…I thought I would make you one,” he stuttered out. “You know, so you could hear the same music even when I’m not there to play for you.”

For the first time that night, she smiled.

“Thank you, Aang,” she said with earnest. “For everything. I really am glad you came.”

She was the one that moved first. She put her arms around his torso, pressing her face into his shoulder. She was not sure if he cared that her tears stained his robes, but all that she knew was that he was there and that he saw her. That was what mattered.

Aang saw her.

“I don’t…think I can watch you be… _engaged_ to someone like that,” he said in a course murmur next to her ear. “Someone should deserve you.”

Katara thought that there was only one person that did.

-

Her mother had abdicated her seat as chief to her when she was twenty-two. Kya, while not elderly or ailing, said that she wanted to focus more on teaching waterbending at the school. She had said that Katara was more than ready to take over, to lead, and it was luck that the rest of the tribe agreed.

Around the same time, she had received a letter from Aang:

_Katara,_

_I have news! I’ve been chosen to teach the Avatar advanced airbending techniques to finish her training. I wondered why Gyatso wasn’t chosen, but he insists that they chose me for a reason, whatever that means._

_The Avatar has been told her identity early, but I’m not sure why the Elders decided this was a good idea. They would only be ten, too young to know. Gyatso says that everything happens for a reason, and that the Elders have their motives for telling her who she is._

_I wonder what Avatar Amrita is like. I hope I can be a good teacher._

_–Aang_

She was glad for him and knew that Aang would do well even without her telling him so. The two of them had started to move forward in their lives, and she started to wonder what that all meant.

Katara was nervous. She was young and did not have much experience outside of what she had studied and observed. But the people trusted her. She tried to emulate what Kya taught her: to be loyal, brave, and true to herself. “These are the most important things to remember as chief,” Kya had said. “Loyalty to your tribe, bravery to lead your people, and true to your beliefs.”

Katara made sure to remember these things on her first trip as chief outside the Southern Water Tribe. She had been invited to attend a trade agreement signing in Omashu. As the new chief, she decided it was best to come herself. Sokka would normally be her second-in-command, but Kya thought that it would be good to expose him to a grand delegation such as this one. Kya retained her chief duties for the few weeks until they returned.

“And with that, the agreement is renewed!” rejoiced King Bumi at the head of the table. At only twenty, the eccentric Earth Kingdom monarch rose to the throne after a sickness crippled his mother who had been the reigning queen. Still, that did not seem to deter him from being exactly who he was. “Let’s party!”

Katara saw the representatives from different nations milling about the room, exiting in groups. She waved to the delegate for the Northern Water Tribe, and after a short greeting, she and Sokka left the room.

They had to change for the formal event that would happen that night. She had opted to wear a blue dress trimmed with white fur and long sleeves that dropped just past her wrists. Sokka had on a buttoned vest with similar trimmings.

“I don’t know if I want to go to this thing,” complained Sokka. “Wearing this suit feels so… _uncomfortable.”_

“Oh, just enjoy the free meat skewers,” Katara laughed.

“You know what, you’re right, little sister.”

She and Sokka wandered in opposite directions in the ballroom. Scones of glowing green stones lit the hall on adorned pillars. There were buffet tables covered with silver platters of food. She spotted the dessert. She was about to pick out a delicious-looking custard tart when a pale hand bumped into hers.

She startled. “I’m sorry—”

Her mouth parted when she saw Aang standing before her. He was a head taller than her. He had filled out well over the years, and the clothes he wore only accentuated his stature. He wore the traditional colors of the Air Nomads, but this set was made for special occasions. He had a column of neat, twisted buttons that ran down his chest, each clasped together. His high collar was slightly bent outward and stood out against the red sash that was draped across his shoulders down to the waistband of his loose, yellow pants.

He was handsome. So handsome. She could not think of anything else as she struggled to find the words to greet him.

“Katara,” he said in that boyish way of his. He gulped. “Wow.”

She felt the corner of her mouth quirk. “Wow?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes wide. “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

She looked away, hoping that he would not see the blush rise rapidly on her face. She could feel it burning through her skin.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she stumbled. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Well…since I’m one of the Avatar’s masters now…”

There was an awkward moment of silence before one of them was composed enough to say anything. “Well,” said Aang, “if you’re not going to eat that…”

“Oh, go ahead,” she remarked.

He ended up splitting the tart with her. She enjoyed the sweet taste on her tongue. The custard was exquisite.

In minutes, he had asked her to dance. The trilling tune of the erhu filtered through the background. The bells that accompanied the strings rang like droplets hitting glass on a rainy day. It was as if all of that had disappeared when they were so close.

She should have been comfortable as she moved with him, for they had danced together before. However, for some reason, this time was different. She could feel the beating of her heart, the touch of his fingers to her bare skin. It tingled like a fever, a gentle touch that left her wanting. There was a string between them that brought them ever closer, tying them together.

The way he pursed his lips distracted her, the way his tongue peaked out to wet them sent a thrill through her. His hand moved up her back. She watched his eyes as he silently asked for her permission. She let him, and then it was as if something between them snapped.

She did not know how it happened, but they were in the gardens as the jasmine flowers bloomed, and then the guest wing, and then her room. The humidity from outside peppered her skin, slickened her hair on the nape of her neck.

The door shut behind him, a resounding _thud_ that sounded final and inviting at the same time. They stared at each other, and Katara felt the bulbs of electricity fizzle at each touch of their hands, each inch they came nearer.

“I um…wanted to tell you…” he started, phrases leaving his mouth like a stream of unconscious thought. He stopped only to angle his head downward until his chin was brushing against her brow, and then time slowed.

It was as if her spirit had left her, all the wandering interruptions that might have clouded her head dissipated. He was close. So close. Their breaths intermingled, hot against her cheek and between them. It was fast when it happened, steady, alluring. She did not know what to say or how to act, only to move on instinct.

Aang collided against her and she to him. His hands were on her hips, fingers entangled in her hair until it was knotted and undone. Her arms were around him, grazing his back, searching for his ear to whisper into, and the planes of his face.

She pushed up against the edge of the bed, her knees buckling until she fell onto it, and he was on top of her. Her mouth was hot against his, a seething, smoldering in her belly guiding her. When she breathed, he breathed with her.

He collapsed beside her.

Her shoulder was exposed. His clothes were disheveled. There was intensity that brought them together, a temptation to go further. They turned to each other almost at the same moment.

She trailed her finger on his neck, and the vein there pulsed and tensed under her touch. She opened her mouth to speak, and then—

“I love you,” she and Aang both said at the same time.

They were laughing, then. Entwined in limbs and happiness. It had taken them too long to get to this point. Years too long. But it was easy now as she saw him outlined by the silvery light of the moon that streamed through the windowpane. It was the simplest thing to admit that she cherished him more than he knew.

“Aang,” she started, laying her head into the crook of his neck, “what if we…married?”

She could feel him staring at her.

She started to wring her wrists and squirm. “I mean…I know it’s not very traditional. In fact, it’s not traditional at all! But um…I figured since we’re not very traditional anyway and…wait. Am I assuming? I’m not assuming, am I? I just…well…”

He kissed her forehead. “Yes,” he said against her and smiled. He let her lips brush against his again before he continued. “Amrita just has a few years left of training. Two at most. After that…”

“Okay,” she agreed. “After that.”

When they melded together, she was reminded of how he drifted toward her. Like the clouds. He talked to her about his student, how she was charming and reminded him of her as a child. She told him of her worries of being chief of her tribe, and he encouraged her to believe in herself. It would be difficult, she knew, for a chief to love a man from a different nation. But the Air Nomads were a people that loved and accepted, and she thought that if she had Aang with her, she could be like that too.

“Should I make you a betrothal necklace?” he joked.

She chuckled. “No,” said Katara, seeing the evening stars reflect from behind the moon, “all I need is your promise.”

“That, you’ll always have.”


	2. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Once,” Aang remembered Gyatso had begun the story as he sat behind the crackling fire, “there was a war between two villages, a war that spanned generations. The leaders of each village were from the families that resented each other the most.
> 
> “In between these two villages was a forest of bamboo. One morning, a daughter of the leader of the village in the east decided to take a walk through it, but after some time, she got lost. When the night started to come, she was frightened. She heard someone come for her and discovered that it was a man. He was the son of the leader of the village in the west.
> 
> “The daughter and the son had met by coincidence that night, but he was kind to her and had helped her find her home. They started to form a friendship, and this friendship began to turn into love."
> 
> -
> 
> Or, Aang and Katara are forced apart by circumstances they cannot control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably the most challenging thing I've written to date. There were so many things I wanted to happen that didn't happen the way I wanted them to. I hope it turned out alright though. I hope anyway?

“Once,” Aang remembered Gyatso had begun the story as he sat behind the crackling fire, “there was a war between two villages, a war that spanned generations. The leaders of each village were from the families that resented each other the most.

“In between these two villages was a forest of bamboo. One morning, a daughter of the leader of the village in the east decided to take a walk through it, but after some time, she got lost. When the night started to come, she was frightened. She heard someone come for her and discovered that it was a man. He was the son of the leader of the village in the west.

“The daughter and the son had met by coincidence that night, but he was kind to her and had helped her find her home. They started to form a friendship, and this friendship began to turn into love.

“The conflict between their villages still continued, and one day, the man was ordered to be sent to lead his people. However, the man was an inexperienced fighter. The daughter knew that her father would lead her village’s warriors, and that her father was a formidable foe. She begged her father to stop fighting. When he refused, she cursed at him. Determined, she tried to meet the man in the bamboo forest.

“Her father found them and saw them together. In a blind rage, he had them both killed on the spot. He had them buried where they died. Immediately, he began to feel remorse, and the next day, the leader of the village in the east discovered a shrub that started to grow where they were buried. It had fragrant white jasmine flowers.

“He shared this news with the leader of the village in the west, and it was determined that the fighting would stop. The jasmine flower was proof of their rebirth, and the fragrance a reminder of their strong love.”

Aang and the other children were curious for more when the story was being told and begged him to continue. But, Gyatso had told them that the story was over. He had plucked a jasmine flower from a bowl of water next to him and lifted it for them all to see. It had smelled so nice that evening, and the perfume traveled from the front to the back of the hall on a breeze.

“When you are old enough…someday, you may want to give someone you love this flower,” he told them. 

Aang had asked if Gyatso had given the flower to anyone special himself.

Gyatso had a gentle smile when he answered the question. “Yes,” he said. “A monk from the Northern Air Temple, and one time…a good friend of mine from the Fire Nation.”

It was a simple thing to think back on what life was like when he was a child. Easy to sink back into the memories that made Aang himself. He liked to think that things were better, less complicated, back then. They certainly seemed to be.

He thought back a lot on Gyatso’s stories. If they meant anything; if they meant anything to him now that he was older.

In his hands now, he cupped the bloom of a jasmine flower. They were only in season during the summer and bore blossoms during this time of the year. Especially since the Southern Air Temple was built so high in the Patola Mountains, it was more difficult for them to grow where it was cool. So, they only grew them at the base. It was always an annual treat for the children to harvest them, and he had fond memories of gathering clippings of them to bring back to the dorms.

He remembered that night with Katara as they passed through the royal gardens of Omashu.

“Like this, Master Aang?” came the young voice of his student.

He turned his head, watching her airbend a constant flow of an air current that kept a few blooms suspended. “Keep it steady, Amrita,” he replied. “The flowers shouldn’t wobble that much.”

Amrita was a curious girl, and eager to please. Even just a few months into her advanced training, she remained so. For such a young child, she was already a gifted airbender. He supposed that it might have to do with the fact that she had mastered the elements hundreds of times in her past lives, but there was something intuitive about the way she bended air that was so uniquely hers.

“Is this right now?” Amrita asked, straining her arms higher.

“Relax,” he said. “Your shoulders are too tense. Remember, you are the wind.”

Amrita had just turned ten when her guardian, Sister Ceba, and the other sisters of the Western Air Temple requested that he begin teaching her.

Amrita had discovered after careful consideration that she was the Avatar early under circumstances that neither of them quite understood. Sister Ceba was chosen to tell her in private, and this was confirmed by the Council when they reminded her of the four Avatar relics that she had chosen as a toddler among thousands of toys. Both she and those that needed to know were told the same thing, “Storm clouds are gathering.” She was encouraged to leave her temple to complete her training, an unconventional method to be sure, but Ceba had said that it was better for the Avatar to be on the move and to have the right teachers rather to stay still with the same teachers.

Aang admired Amrita in some ways. He knew that if it were he who was in her position, he would have resisted. He would have done anything he could to keep his life normal. On the other hand, Amrita was not yet a master of any element, but was young and malleable. She was close to Ceba and many of her friends, but Ceba encouraged her to move forward and to succeed. “We will always be as family, my precious one,” she had told Amrita as Aang got Appa ready to take them back to the Southern Air Temple those four months before, “But now, our family will grow. Your master will be a new part of it, and so will those of the south.”

He was skeptical, especially at first. How could he really be chosen as the airbending master of the Avatar? Gyatso had insisted that it was the correct choice. “You’re talented, young one,” he had told him. “You are the youngest master in centuries. Most do not receive their tattoos until the age of sixteen or when they are older. I believe the Council of Elders of the Western Air Temple has chosen well. They have searched all the temples for a suitable master. Sister Ceba agrees that you are the one who should complete her ward’s training, and she is the one who should be convinced.”

“But,” Aang had hesitated in front of his guardian that day, “you knew Avatar Roku. Are you sure?”

“Because I knew Roku, I know that you are the one the Avatar needs,” Gyatso replied.

Aang sighed, a tired smile resting on his lips as he recalled the words and the events that brought them here. The summer heat was prominent at the bottom of the mountains, and sweat pooled on his lower back, seeping through his robes. The sound of chittering lemurs that leapt through the branches below echoed in the valley, and there were other children milling about picking jasmine flowers.

He stepped forward and added the flower he had in his hands onto the current that Amrita held steady. Her long brown hair was tied at the end into a bun. Whisks of it brushed her forehead and her light hazelnut eyes, framing her round face. She had a look of concentration. She was pouting and scrunching her dark eyebrows together, but it only looked endearing on a person that barely reached his hip.

Amrita gasped when the flower came into her fold, and quickly lost her control. They spun outward and shot out at Aang. He caught them in his own whirlwind in between his palms.

Aang chuckled at the sheepish look on her face. “Go back to the basics when doing a more difficult technique,” he reminded her. “Just like a leaf in the wind, you have to be ready for any change, even if the goal is to keep still.”

“It’s so _hard!_ ” she groaned.

The flowers dropped into his arms. He balanced them in the crook of his elbow, intent on at least bringing a few back up with them. He thought that if he kept the most beautiful one, he could press it into a book and give it to Katara in one of his daily messages. It had only been a week since he had seen her in Omashu, but the promise they had made each other pounded in his chest every moment he breathed. His heart longed to see her again.

“You’ll get it,” Aang said. “I believe in you.” He glanced at the dipping sun, how it turned the sky a deep red, and saw the sprinkle of stars that began to appear. He started to lead them toward Appa. “Let’s go. It’s getting late. We can keep going tomorrow.”

-

The heat was overbearing. Aang tossed atop his pallet. He already had not slept with the blanket because of the summer weather, but this was something else. It was as if he were in a furnace. It was too uncomfortable.

It was silent. A wavering kind that billowed through the halls and his private quarters as if he were on the edge of a windy cliff. Then, he heard screaming.

His eyes shot open. He sat up, shocked that everything around him was covered with a hue of harsh orange. There was a wobbling sheen in the air, as if he were wading through the Si Wong Desert desperate to find an oasis. He could hear the sound of crumbling, of clanging, of things toppling as people ran by. Sounds he never expected to hear in his home.

When he looked outside his window, he saw that the sky was aflame. He could not see the moon beyond the smoke, the fire. There were black burn marks on sides of walls, and monks in their night clothes bending air to fend off what looked like hundreds of Fire Nation soldiers. They were flying, spouts of flame shooting from their hands and feet. It was impossible, yet it was happening.

Incredible, horrifying blasts of fire whizzed past people, hitting others. They were larger than a sky bison. Ash rained from the heavens.

“Use the Great Comet’s power!” yelled a feminine voice from somewhere down below. “Find the Avatar!”

There were only a few hundred Air Nomads that called the temple their home. They were outnumbered.

“No,” breathed Aang.

There was no time to think. He threw on the robes he had draped over his desk, toppling over a container of drying ink brushes in the process. He shoved his feet into his boots. His hands grabbed onto the glider staff next to the door. He hesitated for a second over the book where he had pressed Katara’s flower. He took it and shoved it into his chest pocket.

He shot out like an arrow around the bend, headed straight for the guest dormitory. For now, he was in luck. The firebenders had not made it too far up the temple yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He reached her door as soon as it was opened. Amrita stared at him. Another older teenager girl with hair in a tight braid that shared the room with her stood behind her, seeming worried.

“What’s happening, Master Aang?” asked the teenager.

He shook his head. “We need to get out of here,” he commanded. “Now. Take only the clothes on your back if you can.”

He was leading them to the stables in minutes, mindful of the clacking of their feet. They were running through the halls, sprinting. When they arrived at the back where Appa was waiting, he reeled back at what he saw. Bile rose to his throat, and he wanted more than anything to cover the girls’ eyes from the sight before them. But he knew he could not.

There were dead bison and lemurs. Lifeless children next to the bodies of their guardians. He recognized the still forms of Jinju and his charge. His chest constricted. He could not find Appa.

He whipped around, trying to shield them from the scene. “We need to find another way out,” he insisted.

“But that’s Pemba!” shouted Amrita. Tears collected at the corners of her eyes.

When he looked behind him, he was disheartened to see the small body of one of the dead bison was indeed hers. He gritted his teeth, looking at her in earnest. “We need to get out of here,” he said, voice rough. “You’re too important.”

“No, Master, _please!”_

He opened his mouth to quickly chastise her, but there was a rumbling in the ground. Fire raced out. A group of about five firebenders surrounded them. The older girl that came with them hollered, running at them with a blade of air cutting from her hands.

He tried to make her stop, but the fire came faster than he anticipated.

“EMA!” bellowed Amrita from right beside him, her hand reaching out for her friend’s hand.

He only had a second to look at Ema before she was completely engulfed in flame. A scream caught in her gullet, and when the fire was released, all that was left was the charred remains of her body collapsing onto the floor. The wheezing, jangling breaths that came from her slowed until there was nothing left.

Aang swiped his staff out, forcing a current of wind at their opponents who were sent backwards into a wall. Some of them got up and attacked. He created a vortex of air that entrapped their flames and shot them back out, but there was only so much he could do. There were too many of them and their fire was more powerful than he could handle. He was slammed into a wall, Amrita sobbing by his side.

He grabbed her hand, opening his staff into a glider in the other. He guided her so that she was on the top side of his glider and he controlled the wind from the bottom as he balanced her.

His childhood home was unrecognizable, and from a bird’s eye view he could see every piece of it as it was methodically destroyed. His breathing shuddered. His eyes burned. He told himself that what he was doing was for the world, for their people, for Amrita’s safety.

Yet, _her_ face was all he thought about as the temple burned. The crystal blue that was Katara’s eyes, the easy beauty of her, the sway in her step, the graceful movements as she let the water she controlled coil around her. How that if he were to die today, he would never be able to keep his promise to her. That was all he gave her, his promise. He wished now that he had given her more.

A sea of red swarmed their temple. Children were caught and killed on the spot. The sky was the color of the blood of his people.

He swept them behind tall rocks. Then he heard an explosion, and the running form of Gyatso came sprinting from a hallway, chased by a horde of firebenders into a crumbling building.

“He knows where the Avatar is!” screamed a soldier, and Aang’s heart thudded.

Without thinking, he landed them on an outcropping at the highest spire of the temple. The firebenders had not risen to that level yet, but he could clearly see them down below.

Amrita landed in front of him. Her entire body was shaking. Her eyes blinked in white flashes, on and off, every few beats.

He placed his hands on her arms, trying to keep her calm. “Keep your Avatar Spirit inside,” he urged her. He grasped onto her shoulders, crouching to her level. “If you let it overtake you, they’ll find us. If they find you…it’s all over.”

“Master—”

“You _can’t be found,_ Amrita,” he pleaded. The stone that dug into his knees felt like it was slicing into his skin. “You’re the Avatar. I don’t know what they’ll do to you.” More than that, he knew she was just a child.

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” he whispered. He held onto her tighter. “Stay with me. I’ll protect you.”

“I…I don’t know what to do.”

“You just need to live,” he said. After a short pause he added, “Hide here. I’ll help Gyatso, and then we have to leave. We can’t turn back.”

Her nod was all he needed as confirmation before he jumped onto his glider again. He swooped downward on a burning draft. The smoke obscured him for a moment. As he descended, he moved to avoid a blast of fire.

Soldiers were filing one after another into the same building he saw Gyatso run into. He flew in, just missing another attack, but one of them skimmed his arm and he felt his skin sear. He forced himself to hold in a reactive scream.

He rolled forward, his glider leaving his hands. He stood in the center of dozens of firebenders, and he did not hold back. He fought with his chest, his whole being. Air rammed into them all. He ran in a circle, sucking in the air that surrounded them into a tornado that exploded them outward onto the walls.

For a while, he could hold them off. But the fire was overwhelming. Gyatso was breathing heavily somewhere near him. He had a terrible injury on his leg. Aang and Gyatso shared eye contact. A look of understanding passed between them, and Aang knew, without a doubt, that what they were about to do would change them forever.

There were too many enemies, and they were too formidable. The Fire Nation was attacking them, killing them. Killing their elders, their friends, their families, their children. They could not afford to avoid and evade.

When Gyatso lifted his arms, Aang followed at the same pace, at the same time. Spheres of air encircled the skull-like helmets of a group of their adversaries. He could hear them choking, see them grabbing for their necks, gasping for the air they could not breathe.

Many of them started to fall. Others were desperate to send more fire in their direction. Instead, weak flames sputtered from their fists as they dropped like flies onto the debris.

But as much as this needed to be done, Aang did not feel any pleasure in it at all. He felt horrified at what was happening, that they should take their lives. But he had people to protect. He could feel the wetness of his cheeks as more and more toppled. Their strings cut; their spirits taken.

_Whoosh._

A great ball of flame came charging at he and Gyatso. Reinforcements arrived. Aang created a buffer of air to surround them, but it did not help as much as he would have liked. The ceiling exploded. There were flames everywhere. His robes were singed around the edges, and Gyatso looked worse for wear.

Dozens more soldiers came forth, and he knew suddenly that there was nothing he could do.

He wanted more than anything to apologize. He had become a murderer. He would leave his student alone. He would leave the love of his life alone, and he hoped that Katara would forget him. At least then she would never know what happened to him or what he had to become.

A crash, and he thought it was all over. But there was groaning, and when he gained control of himself again, he was met with the giant face of Appa. On his back and holding the reins was Amrita.

“Get on!” she shouted. “Hurry!”

He grabbed his fallen glider. He latched onto Gyatso, tugging him along with him, and pushing them upward on a whirl of air until they were tumbling on the beast’s back.

“Yip, yip!” he called as soon as they were on, and Appa soared into the air.

The soldiers were distracted for enough time. He threw wind at the dilapidated structure that started to fall below them and trapped many of them inside. They flew into the smoke, covered by the clouds and shadow, racing into the depth of the night into the Patola Mountains. Below, he could see the burning jasmine flower shrubs.

Aang thought for a moment where they would go. He saw Katara’s face again. The kind way she held his hand, the brush of her lips, the way she always laughed at the way he joked with her. It would have been easy to go to the Southern Water Tribe to hide. Maybe, it would even have been ideal.

But as he sat next to Amrita at the front and took the reins from his student, he knew what the answer was. She climbed onto the saddle, trying to assist Gyatso by tending to his seared leg.

The Fire Nation was looking for an Air Nomad Avatar. If they thought the airbenders had been all killed, they would look in the Water Tribes next.

He looped his hands into the rope, his arm stinging. He ignored the pain. He had to.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Katara,” he said into the wind. His words carried far away until they disappeared.

Aang guided Appa around and they headed north.

-

For weeks they ran.

In the crags of the mountains, the caves, the sloping dunes of stone. The sun set and rose on every day as a routine. He forgot to count the number of days it took to reach each place they stopped, each hour, even.

The Fire Nation was relentless. They searched for any surviving airbender they could, and they remained in constant motion. However, it was difficult to move far when both Aang and Gyatso were injured. They never strayed from each other, always within seeing distance. Aang never allowed even a glimpse of the temple. They had too many brushes with death.

He tried not to think of the lives lost there, but he had a duty to the people that he knew were alive. He had a duty to his student and to his elderly guardian.

“Aang,” said Gyatso one evening as they sat next to the dying embers of a fire in a carven they had discovered. “I’m well enough to travel. Do not worry about me.”

Aang sighed. He poked at the coals with a stick. They had made sure that any fire they made stayed out of sight and never burned too long. When they were done with it, the remnants were airbended away.

“You’re still limping—”

“Yes,” Gyatso cut him off, frowning. He peered over to Amrita who was fast asleep on Appa’s tail. Appa, who normally did not like being underground, had realized the importance of hiding. He never left the cave if he could help it. Gyatso continued, gaze lingering on the small girl. “I don’t think that will go away, young one.”

Aang glanced at him, alarmed.

Gyatso let out a breath, slumping a little as he pushed his back on the earthen wall. “Amrita needs a place to train, a home…not this.”

“But you know that’s impossible.”

Gyatso’s lips thinned. He did not speak for a long while. “Kyoshi Island,” he suggested at last. “The home of a previous Avatar. If there are people who we can trust, who are loyal to the Avatar if we are forced to tell them who Amrita is, it will be the people of Kyoshi.”

Aang looked down, dropping the stick. He could feel the eyes of his guardian and master on him.

“…and perhaps when we arrive there it would be the best place to find a way to tell your loved one that you’re alive,” Gyatso finished.

Aang could feel the burning in his throat, the threat of tears that pressed against his eyes. He could not bring himself to say anything. He felt Gyatso’s wrinkled hand as he leaned into him, how his deft, familiar digits kneaded into the charred fabrics of his orange and yellow robes.

“Often, the moments we wish for become the most fleeting,” Gyatso said.

He felt for the book he hid in his robes. He did not know what else to wish for but her embrace.

-

When they reached Kyoshi Island, it was the dead of night. They stumbled on the beach, exhausted and drained of all energy. The sand caught in Aang’s boots. The salty waves lapped against Appa’s paws as he made his way to the forest that edged the island. He grasped onto Amrita’s arm as she slipped on a slick rock.

“Careful,” he muttered.

The trees consumed them, tall dark slashes against the midnight autumn sky. The leaves crunched softly under their feet. The quiet was a friend.

Without warning, a shadow dropped from the treetops. And another, and another. The three of them stood alert, all fatigue forgotten. Sharp golden fans appeared at their necks, their faces. Attached to them the arms and bodies of women clad in deep green armor. Bronze and gold headpieces adorned their hair, and their pale white face paint with red eyelids stood out to him even in the dark.

“Who are you? We don’t allow unannounced outsiders on our land,” said a woman with shoulder-length auburn hair. She had the most elaborate headdress. “Are you Fire Nation?”

“Suki,” another woman to her left said carefully. She tilted her head. “I think…they’re Air Nomads.”

There was a hush in the forest, a rustle in the leaves that had started to brown and fall. One alighted next to Aang’s foot. He tucked Amrita’s head beneath his arm, hiding her face from view.

He knew they looked tattered, worn. He had stubble across his chin that he had not shaved, and the uneven baldness on his head did little to accentuate his arrow tattoos. Still, he had his hands. He raised them, showing them their backs.

“Please,” he begged, eyes boring into the leader—Suki’s. “Help us. At least, help her.” He let Amrita peek from behind him.

“Of—Of course,” stuttered Suki as if in a daze. She lowered her fans and signaled for the rest of the warriors to do the same. “We would be honored to help you.”

They were brought to an inn and promptly fussed over by about a dozen or so people. The village’s head had greeted them when he heard the news. He was a plump, rather short man with graying hair tied into a strange tall topknot and a beard as long as his neck.

They were offered food, fresh clothes, and accommodations for Appa. The fire they had started in the hearth was the warmest Aang had felt in what felt like a decade. It was also the softest bed he had slept on in too long. 

He awoke, refreshed with the sunrise. He shaved his head, washed his face, checked on his festering, mostly healed burn. He was glad that the healer had decided to treat Gyatso. When Aang checked on his guardian, he was fast asleep on the opposite end of their room. His leg was wrapped and elevated. It smelled of medicinal herbs and poultice.

Aang walked onto the balcony to meditate. He would wake Amrita for her daily training in an hour.

He tried to calm himself, thinking only of the breeze. The North Wind, the currents that billowed past him. The heat of the sun’s rays.

The comet.

The frantic gasps of the people he killed and the people they killed.

He grunted, pressing his forehead to the cool planks of the floor. After a moment he stood, staring out into the blue of the sky. He thought, as he had for most of his days, of Katara. That calmed him. Just for a while.

He descended the steps of the inn and asked for the innkeeper for ink and paper.

“Please,” Aang said, staring at the words he had written with just a few strokes of a brush, “if you still send messages to the Southern Water Tribe, send this one.”

He fingered the edges of the book but decided he would not give up its contents. Not yet.

On the parchment paper were two words: _I’m alive._

-

They stayed for a little longer than a year. The Fire Nation did not pass by often, if at all. They seemed to ignore Kyoshi Island, for it was out of the way and of little importance on the map.

To those that did not live in the tiny village they stayed in, they hid their identities, their tattoos. Aang knew their way of life could not be permanent, but Gyatso was right. It was better for Amrita who was so young. Twelve now, and closer to becoming a master. He could say that perhaps she was one already. There was not much to teach her left.

He would train her every sunrise in the forest, and every afternoon in the hills. He made their lessons games, interwove the same stories Gyatso told him about the plants and the leaves. The more she practiced, the prouder of her he became. He could almost imagine what it would have been like if only they lived in a time of peace. If, perhaps, he had a chance to have a family. A sister.

Sometimes when he least expected it, they would ask each other questions. Amrita brought up a girl in the village she was interested in. She thought she was the prettiest in the world.

Amrita asked Aang that same day if he had loved anyone before. If he held anyone close to his heart.

“Yes,” he said, and that was all he indulged.

On other days, an occasional trade boat would dock, passing along fish and information about the war. He heard that the Fire Nation had invaded the Western Earth Kingdom, and that the other nations had declared war against the Fire Nation. The Northern Water Tribe was becoming increasingly secluded. He heard whispers of the chief of the Southern Water Tribe. How she would not back down, how she sent her best warriors to the front if they volunteered, how her brother had brilliant battle strategies, how she commanded the waterbenders to build a fortress that served as a protective wall. How sometimes, people said she searched for airbenders.

Then on a spring morning, a small fleet of Water Tribe ships stopped by asking for help with collecting supplies for their journey to the Earth Kingdom.

A man, a little shorter than Aang was but with a wise, confident step, came into view. He had a Warrior’s Wolf Tail and a neatly trimmed beard. He recognized him.

Aang reached into his knapsack that he always kept with him now and pulled out the headwrap that he used whenever there were outsiders from beyond Kyoshi Island. He blew out the meditation candles and covered his tattoos with the fabric. He leapt from the balcony to the stairs, taking two at a time. In minutes he was standing in front of the man and rushed toward him.

“Hakoda!” Aang exclaimed.

The man turned around, blue eyes widening into saucers. “Who…Aang?” he asked, dumbstruck.

They grasped each other’s arms at the elbow, and then they were hugging each other so tightly that Aang could not breathe. They were crying, patting each other’s backs. 

“We…we all thought you were dead. All of you,” Hakoda gulped, pulling back to look at Aang. He paused to look around. “Gyatso?”

“He’s alive,” smiled Aang. He raised his eyebrows, voice softening. “Katara is she…?”

Haokda had a sad look when he responded. A dark expression that Aang did not recognize on a man such as he. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than when he had last seen him. “Both she, Sokka, and my mother are alright,” he said slowly. “But…Kya…she’s gone.”

That gave Aang pause. “What?” he gasped.

“She…died,” said Hakoda, looking away. Upon closer inspection, the redness around his eyes now seemed like it was a lasting fixture. “After the Fire Nation attacked the Air Temples…they went for the Water Tribes hoping to find the Avatar. Kya she…she protected us. She put her life on the line when I could not…she saved me…saved us. And I…”

They walked to the edge of the dock, away from others. Aang placed a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

They did not talk for a long time before Aang broke the silence. “I…couldn’t return to her, to Katara, to you or your family or my friends in the other nations,” he started. “Not after what happened. We had to keep running.

“I…don’t know if there are any other airbenders left. I haven’t seen any besides Gyatso and Amrita. As far as I know, we were the only ones that escaped. I’ve heard that the Fire Nation has been hunting us down.”

Hakoda glimpsed upward, shock written all over his face. Aang knew what he was going to ask, and instead of responding aloud, he nodded. “She’s alive,” he said simply. “My student.”

“Then…”

“Someday soon, we’ll have to find another master for her, but for now we have to keep moving.”

Hakoda chuckled, then. Shaking his head, he clasped Aang’s arm again. “Right,” he agreed. “We have to keep moving. You and I have been through a lot. Too much to stop now.”

“The whole world has been through too much,” said Aang, stepping away.

“You haven’t changed, Aang. You’re still wise beyond your years,” Hakoda replied with a rueful smile. “Katara has never forgotten about you. She still loves you, and I know you still love her too. I hope that one day, you two will come back to each other.”

-

A few days after the Water Tribe men left, a rumor started to go around that there were Air Nomads in the mountains on the southern tip of the Earth Kingdom. They heard it from a storyteller that came into the village, full of mystery and music. He even had a traditional beaded necklace as proof. “They say,” he said, “that if someone knows where to look, they will find them.”

At first, he and Gyatso were doubtful. They had not heard of these kinds of stories before. But the storyteller kept talking about people coming down the mountain to forage, whirlwinds of air that popped up on sunny days, the roar of a sky bison. The details were so accurate that it was difficult to ignore.

In the end, it was Amrita that convinced them. “C’mon, Master, Gyatso!” she giggled. “Maybe we could find more of our people! Don’t you want to try?”

“Alright, little one,” replied Gyatso as he patted her head. “We will check just this once, but we will turn back if there are none.”

The thing was, Aang knew that Gyatso wanted more than anything to find more of their people. He knew how he felt because he wanted to as well. He wanted to know who survived and if there were others. But he also knew that something could go wrong. There was a silent agreement in between them that they would remain on high alert. They would not stop, nor would they risk unnecessary movement outside of their goal.

They left at dawn on Appa’s back and arrived that evening in the mountain peaks near Chin Village where the storyteller said the Air Nomads were spotted. The continent looked vaster than Aang had remembered it after being secluded on an island for so long. Beneath them, the tiny village looked like little bursts of light and stars in the night.

They chose a hidden alcove where they camped. Still, the excitement kept Aang awake. He did not sleep much and was already rolling his blanket when Amrita and Gyatso woke.

They ate a meager breakfast of nuts and lychee fruit when they heard the chimes. All of them stilled, hearing the familiar tinkle of the wind chimes that used to surround their temples. They acted as gestures to the air, to gauge the wind for that day. It was a toll, a few notes, a distinct sound.

It was easy to follow the sound for it was just up the bend. They each walked with a skip in their steps to the top of the mountain. Amrita was ginning, Gyatso was humming an old lullaby.

They saw a cave up ahead.

“Look!” beamed Amrita. “Is that…a dorje?”

Aang nodded, placing a hand on the decorative drum. “And a staff too,” he pointed out. There was one laying on the wall on the other side.

“Someone is living here,” agreed Gyatso.

Aang turned to him, about to respond, when there was a shift in the air. He felt it on his skin, the tingling on the nape of his neck. Even the headwrap he wore shuddered. He moved just as an arrow flew past them and struck the dorje.

“Run!” he shouted.

Archers came after them, bounding down the cliffs with just as much ease as they. Aang shoved his arms backward, willing the air to his command, a bubble forming a shield around them. Gyatso was keeping up, but only just. His limp kept him from gaining too much speed.

Amrita spun upward, creating a vortex that sucked up the arrows and sent them back. Aang augmented her abilities from behind, pulling Gyatso’s arm around his neck.

“Leave me!” Gyatso pleaded.

“No!” Aang said back with a fierceness that could have pierced steel.

Appa appeared, growling. He lifted his tail and thumped it until it blasted all the archers away. They scrambled onto the saddle.

Aang heard a sharp _twang._ An arrow was headed toward Amrita who was still lifting her leg onto Appa’s back. He did not have time to move when Gyatso did for him.

Appa rose into the air and into the clouds. Gyatso was lying on his back, an arrowhead deep within the right side of his chest where his shoulder socket met his clavicle. A yellow liquid dripped from the shaft, and Gyatso huffed every time a drop of it hit his skin.

“Aang…Aang…take care of her,” Gyatso rasped. “Live, my young one. Live.”

His world crumbled, and all he could hear was the distant roar of the blood rushing in his veins as he steered Appa south.

He must have flown them for days without stopping, only to break off the shaft end of arrow and try to patch what he could. He could not remember how he got to the front to the reins, nor how the snow got into his eyes.

The Southern Water Tribe was a sight he thought he would never see again, if not so soon. But it was the only place he could think of to bring Gyatso. It was the only place he knew of that could heal him and save him.

A storm was brewing, a blizzard. Snow blanketed the ground and made seeing things near impossible. Appa descended near the wall of the capital without any prior announcement. Aang ended up pounding on the gates, begging for help, frozen tracks of tears on his cheeks.

He could see the rush of warriors, of waterbenders. His hands were tied together, and he heard shouting, an urgent command. Appa stomped and men bellowed.

A face emerged near to his, bright blue eyes staring down at him. He heard a voice, a cry. He lost all consciousness when he heard his name resounding through him like a half-forgotten dream.

-

Aang heard a pan flute playing a beautiful, familiar tune. One he himself used to play as a child.

He shot up in bed. A thick comforter slid down his bare torso. He shivered, hunching into himself. He coughed and something rattled in his chest. The playing stopped. A cup of water was brought to his face. He glanced up.

Katara smiled at him, but it did not reach her eyes. In her lap was the pan flute. “Aang,” she said, voice soft. “Drink this.” She urged him to sip on it. When she was satisfied that he had done what she asked, she placed the cup down. Her lips trembled. She cupped his cheek. Her fingers were gentle on his coarse skin. He wanted to lean into it.

He had not seen her for so long, had not heard from her in two years.

When he looked at her again, he saw something else. Something broken that he recognized all too well because he had seen it in the mirror for the two years he had been away from her. But still, she was here.

He pressed his face into her neck and sobbed. “He’s gone, isn’t he?” he quivered.

He felt her nod. “He was already gone when you arrived.” She wrapped her hands around him. “I’m so, _so,_ sorry, Aang. I’m so sorry.”

He held her close because that was all he could do. Like a storm, she changed with him, and she moved when he could not.

-

Aang spent the next several days recuperating. Then for weeks after that, he was training Amrita again. Katara stood on the sidelines of the waterbending hall, watching.

“Good,” he said. “The form was perfect.”

A pause.

“Master,” began Amrita, shifting from foot to foot. “You’ve tested me on all of the tiers. You know it was perfect. I…”

“I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.”

“I’ve mastered all thirty-six tiers, even your air scooter!” Amrita shot back. She waved her arms in front of her as if to demonstrate. “Please, Master! It’s what Gyatso would have wanted…what I want.”

It was the look on his student’s face, the mention of his guardian’s name, and the way Katara stepped toward him that undid his resolve to resist.

“Okay,” he said.

After, it was not easy to prepare. However, he remembered Gyatso’s words, how he had told him to live and to take care of her.

Even so, it was Katara’s hands that brought him through it. It was her care and her help that collected the ink, the bamboo needle, that set up the tent. She had stayed up with him, even after a day’s worth of leading her people. She encouraged him, healed Amrita and watched with a careful eye as he inked her skin with the arrow tattoos of a master.

He was the only one who could do it now.

Sokka and Kanna were there at the ceremony afterward. He was the one that presented her to them, to the tribe that could attend. He rang the only gong they had, commanded the wind to create a song that once a hundred people used to make. He imagined the bells, the chimes, the way the currents would grace them and his people.

“Often, the moments we wish for become the most fleeting,” Gyatso had once said years ago.

He wondered then, who and what he wished for the most at that moment. His grief was there, and it was raw. He was told to live, but that was all he had to go on.

He met Katara’s eyes.

Aang walked down the dais and he and Amrita bowed toward Katara. “Chief Katara of the Southern Water Tribe,” started Amrita, “It would be an honor to learn waterbending from you.”

After, he took Katara’s hand. His heart was heavy, but Katara’s touch was warm. They stood on the steps of the chief’s palace. Katara, now a leader in a time of war. Her brother, a warrior who knew what it was like to defend from an army. Aang, unsure what to do nor of what his purpose was now.

He did not realize he had said it aloud until she was kissing the words he said away. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. “You’re kind, and gentle, and loving,” she said. “You do have a purpose here. With me, with Avatar Amrita. Even if you don’t think so, she still needs you…I need you.”

“We’ve both lost so much.”

She brought him close. “But now we have each other,” she murmured into his ear, “and a promise to keep.”

He was the one to kiss her this time. “And a promise to keep,” he remarked. He remembered the book. Somehow, he had kept it close to him all this time, even after he had been healed. He reached into his chest pocket and pulled it out, presenting it to Katara.

“It’s a jasmine flower,” he informed her when she opened it. The dried bloom showed itself as she cracked the tome open. It still had a prominent fragrance. “I’ve been saving it for you. Gyatso used to say that the jasmine flower is a reminder of a strong love…and I…”

She shut the book and grasped onto his front, bringing his lips to hers again.

There would be trouble. There would be war. But amongst everything, they had each other. They would lead together and do what it took to bring hope back to the world.

“We’ll fight,” she added with conviction, mouth brushing against his. “One day, we’ll win.”

Katara was a perfect storm. She was the passion for life he desired. She called him her clouds and told him that he was the soft comfort she needed. He needed her too.

He did not know how much he needed her storm, her rain, her thunder. Not until he had lived without it.

It did not matter if it took one-hundred years for he and Katara to have their peace. They would have it. For now, they would make their own balance of clouds and storms that forced them apart until they clashed together again.

They were alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. The extremely less fluffy, but more angst-ridden, pining, part 2. If you enjoyed it, please leave some kudos and/or a comment down below!
> 
> Some notes:  
> -Amrita is a Tibetan name meaning beloved or divine.  
> -Pemba is a Tibetan name meaning a boy born on a Saturday.  
> -Ceba is a Tibetan name meaning dear to hold.  
> -The jasmine flower story is loosely based on versions of the romantic sampaguita story from the Philippines in which two lovers from different warring villages meet and fall in love. In a version of the story, there is a bamboo fence that separates them where they meet. When the man dies in the war, a sampaguita shrub grows. In another version, the woman's father kills them and the shrub grows where they died. A sampaguita is also called a Philippine jasmine or Arabian jasmine.


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